Brother, what have I ever done to you?

When I live with you, I feel this odd sort of trapped. Not physically, I can do what I want, go about my life like everyone else. But this freedom is hindered by the moments I do spend in your presence. Yes, I can walk out the door, but your words follow me, your opinions influence my own. The way you move makes me jump when someone walks by a bit too quietly or accidentally bangs into the wall next to me. People tell me, "Oh he's just growing up." I believe that, but at the same time, I've failed to ignore how much you've hurt me despite my best efforts.

My actions seem foolish, my appearance looks wrong. I look at those I hold close like they might be faking their love. The things I love are suddenly unlovable, tarnished by your persistent mocking and the omnipresent idea that I'm just plain stupid for enjoying anything so trivial. Never mind that your own interests are just as wild and out there, never mind that you're also insecure, never mind that you feel frustrated with the world. The difference between normal growing pains, the feelings of anger at the world, and what you are doing is the fact that you take it out on me. All the yelling, the jeering, the intimidating, the humiliation, it makes me so deeply sad.

I don't think you mean to do it. Honestly, I don't know if I could ever think that. I've known you too long, the innocent version of you, three years old, contrary as ever, but still innocent. I mourn that this has gone sour, and the fact that you don't seem to care.